


Of Parents, Sisters and Motherly Talks

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Series: Wonderful One plus One [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Also warning for, Courfeyrac's sister is a little overwhelming..., Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Sunday and Courfeyrac isn’t actually panicking. Not at all.<br/>Okay, maybe a little.</p><p>In which there are many familial meetings, excitable sisters and many reasons to be nervous</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Parents, Sisters and Motherly Talks

It’s Sunday and Courfeyrac isn’t actually panicking. Not at all.  
Okay, maybe a little, deep down in the pit of his stomach and he swallows it back as he waits in Jehan’s living room. He didn’t arrive ten minutes early to find Jehan half way through dressing, trying to do up the buttons on his floral print shirt and answer the door at the same time.  
He shifts to his other foot, convincing himself that this will be fine. Mum loves meeting people, and she’s already said Jehan sounds lovely. Dad will probably make terrible jokes but he won’t be rude. And Jehan keeps smiling at him in this reassuring way that says he really wants to do this.  
They arrive at the house, a small sandstone building in Cergy with shutters that Jehan coos over, half an hour before lunch.  
“I always assumed you lived in Paris all your life.”  
“A lot of my family does, Mum and Dad just wanted to move somewhere less… Capitally to start their family.”  
“Stop freaking out.” Jehan kisses his cheek gently. Courfeyrac sighs, smiles then raises his hand to knock on the door. It’s opened, not by either of his parents, but by his eldest sister. She grins at the pair of them and Courf involuntarily lets out a groan.  
“Adalie.” She looks a lot like him, with their mothers dark curls, styled into a pixie cut and her hazel eyes are sparkling as she takes in Jehan.  
“Little brother! Mum said you were coming over, I just happened to be around.”  
“Of course you did. Are any of the others mysteriously ‘happening to be here’?”  
“Nope, just me! May’s off gallivanting with that boyfriend of hers and Janette’s got her final year assessment. You must be Jehan! Mum’s been telling me about you. Come in, come in.” She pulls them both in and slings her arms around their shoulders. Jehan looks more than a little perplexed “So, how’d you get my brother to settle down huh?”  
“Adalie!”  
“Come on, I want all the details and I won’t get them from you.” She hits him on the back of the head. “Stupid brother. So, Jehan. You don’t mind me calling you Jehan do you?” She continues as if he wasn’t there, leaving him blinking after them as Jehan tells her about the poem and the art gallery, leaving out the small issue between the two which he’s thankful for. He finds his mother in the kitchen, tasting the sauce she’s making.  
“There you are, I thought Adalie had kidnapped you.” She gives him a hug and kisses his cheek.  
“She’s kidnapped Jehan…”  
“Why aren’t you rescuing him – I want to meet him!”  
“You think she’d let me take him back?” He asks her, raising an eyebrow. “You know what she’s like when she gets a hold of my friends, let alone my boyfriend.” He leans against the counter with a sigh “Where’s Dad?”  
“Finding some wine or some such.” He mother shrugs “He said something about a good wine he’d been saving and then vanished.”  
“You need a hand?”  
“Not at all, nearly finished here. You go find your sister, before she scares Jehan off.”

They settle for lunch early, his father at the head of the table, his mother at the other. Adalie sits opposite, and nudges him under the table. He’s finding it hard to believe she’s nearly 30 and not still 15.  
His father pours out white wine for the group.  
“Thank you very much Monsieur de Courfeyrac.”  
“Oh please, none of this Monsieur stuff; call me Ray.”  
“Right, yes.” Jehan goes a little pink at his father’s enthusiasm, it’s natural really. Courfeyrac can’t remember when he decided to take up his surname as his first name, he suspects it was somewhere around the age of 10, but he can’t be sure. Either way the call of ‘It’s Courfeyrac. Just Courfeyrac. Nothing else’ became quite common through his high school days.  
“So, tell us about yourself Jehan. What are you studying?”  
“I’m studying literature.”  
“You’re in the year below aren’t you?” His mother doesn’t give him a chance to reply “Courfeyrac says you write poetry.”  
“That’s correct, it’s… Uh… A passion of mine you could say.”  
“What kind?”  
“Usually narrative but I enjoy exploring all the different types really.”  
“Very romantic.” Adalie’s grin is like a Cheshire cats and Courfeyrac narrows his eyes at her.  
“If I desire it to be yes, but I by no means only write romantic poems, despite appearances.” Jehan smiles sweetly.  
“I must say I’m in love with your hair… How on earth do you manage to plait it like that?”  
“Oh, it’s very simple. I’ll show you if you like?”  
Courfeyrac is left, sitting on the side lines just a little, as his family continues to interrogate Jehan, and Jehan rebuffs every comment perfectly. 

“He seems lovely dear.” His mother (Call me Joanna) says as she washes up.  
“Certainly the best you’ve brought home.” His father says.  
“Dad!”  
“We like him, aren’t you happy?”  
“No need to insult my tastes…”  
“He’s got Adalie’s approval anyway.” His mother nods toward the door without looking around, to the scene of Jehan plaiting his hair while explaining what he’s doing. Adalie watches on in some kind of fascination.  
Courfeyrac smiles.  
“He’s really great… I feel like it’s going somewhere this time.”  
“Oh?!” His mother looks around this time, with the same grin as Adalie’s.  
“Don’t get excited…” Courfeyrac sighs.

~~~

Jehan looks different.  
He’s wearing a pair of jeans Courfeyrac has never seen before, but they’re blue and boring, and one of his checked shirts that he wears around the house. He pulls his hair up in a ponytail as he walks.  
“So I’m your friend.”  
“Yes, from Les Amis. You can tell them everything else.”  
His tone is different, his whole manner so unlike him it’s almost like someone’s replaced him. His stance is stiffer, there’s less grace to his movements. Courfeyrac clasps his hand gently.  
“Are you okay with this?”  
“They’re my parents. You want to meet them and I want them to meet you.”  
“No I mean-“  
“This.” Jehan gestures to himself. “I’m not any different Courfeyrac.”  
But everything is so much different and it doesn’t feel right. It feels like lying, like hiding. He worries, just a little bit more and allows Jehan to lead him down the street.  
The house is large, but not unnecessarily so. It still feels foreboding as Jehan rings the door bell and leans patiently against the railing.  
“Hello?” A woman pokes her head around the door, she has Jehan’s sandy hair and it’s styled around her face. Her eyes are grey and light up when she sees Jehan. “You’re early!”  
“Our train was on time for once.” Jehan smiles, and he relaxes a little into his mother’s embrace. “Mum this is Courfeyrac.”  
“It’s nice to meet you.” Jehan’s mother extends a manicured hand. “I’m Lisette. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Jehan’s told me so much about his friends from the political club. It sounds fascinating.”  
“It is rather interesting yes, you can learn a few things and get things to happen too.” Courfeyrac smiles politely.  
“Your father is in his office, I’ll give him a call. Come in, come in!” She ushers them inside and into the living room, furnished in black and white. Jehan perches himself on the sofa.  
“Your mother seems lovely.” Courfeyrac says.  
“She is. She’s great.” Jehan nods, he looks tenser again. Courfeyrac wants to lean over and hug him, tell him they can leave and that this was a stupid idea, but he can’t. There are footsteps.  
“Jean, you made it.” His father’s voice is deep and booming. Jehan all but jumps, putting on a smile as he turns.  
“Of course I did.”  
“And this must be your friend.”  
“Yes, this is Courfeyrac.” He stands to shake the man’s hand. Jehan’s father is tall, his hair dark and slicked back. His eyes are the same piercing colour as Jehan’s.  
“Nice to meet you sir.”  
“Jean says you’re into politics, we’ll have lots to talk about later.”  
“I look forward to it.” 

 

Jehan looks out of the kitchen door as he dries the plate in his hand, bubble running down his arm as he watches the pair. Courfeyrac is animatedly discussing some upcoming bill or something along those lines, his father is watching intently, nodding along, occasionally making a comment.  
“I don’t know how you thought you could hide it from me.” His mother says and Jehan flinches, the plate slipping slightly and his heart leaps again.  
“W-What?” His mother sighs, pulling off her rubber gloves and leaning against the counter, hand on hip.  
“You, and Courfeyrac.”  
“We’re friends.” Jehan tells her, placing the plate on the side before his shaking fingers lose their grip again.  
“Then you need to hide it better.” Jehan glances down.  
“I’m sorry…”  
“Honey, I’m so delighted for you and that you felt you could bring him here. And I understand why you felt you couldn’t tell us.”  
“I wanted to tell you… But I couldn’t.”  
“I know. I know this isn’t what you’re like normally. You’re my son, I know when you’re happy. Your eyes always give you away, just like your father.” His mother cups his cheek gently, pushing his hair back off his face. “How long?”  
“About three months? I think? It’s all kind of been… It seems like forever.”  
“I’m proud of you.” She smiles. “I know it was tough, and I know I never did anything to make it better when I should have done. But I’m proud, of the person you’ve become despite that.”  
“You don’t think-“ Jehan starts, and his mother places a finger over his lips.  
“No. I don’t think. I- I did think those words were true, once. But not anymore. Now I realise how stupid I was to have ever believe them. Because look at you, you’re my baby boy and I’ve not seen you this happy for years. Since you were 18.”  
“I am, I’m happy. I’m-I’m getting there.” He sniffs, looking back down again. “You won’t tell Dad?”  
“No. I wouldn’t do that.”  
“Thank you…”  
“Now.” She pats his cheeks gently, and pulls him into a short hug. “Should we go out there before your father scares him off? I heard talk of the bill and it’s all I’ve heard all week, he can go on for hours…”

**Author's Note:**

> Have I really not posted any of this since August? I've been writing this for a while but really?  
> Well here we are


End file.
